


A Little Discipline

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Gavin Reed, Breathplay, Bruises, But he doesn't think he does, Choking, Cock Rings, Comfort, Edgeplay, Edging, Eventual Romance, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gavin Reed Being an Idiot, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed is a Mess, Gavin cries during sex, Gavin is dating a douche, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied Violence, M/M, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage, RK900 is so over Gavin's bullshit, Safe Sane and Consensual, So RK900 has to do something about that, So is Tina, These tags are out of control, Tina Chen & Gavin Reed Friendship, Top Upgraded Connor | RK900, because he's dumb, descriptions of injuries, no descriptions of the actual violence, pleasure as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: “You think you need to let someone hurt you first before they can mend you,” Gavin looks further away at the statement and 900 lets him hold onto his pride for a little longer.His hand cards through Gavin’s hair, pulling a stuttered exhalation from the man, “You aren’t broken.”When Gavin still refuses to look at him, he fists the strands lightly between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze, “A firm hand doesn’t have to be painful.”__Gavin likes to date dangerous men. 900 is having none of it.





	A Little Discipline

“Why does detective Reed do that?” 900 asks Tina the third time he struts into the precinct with his shirt partially unbuttoned, angry bruises on full display down his neck and collarbone.

Tina glances over at him out of curiosity and promptly rolls her eyes, “Oh, _that_. Yeah, ignore that. He’s peacocking.” 900’s LED does a slow yellow churn. Tina had learned by now to let him look things up for himself.

Still confused, 900 presses for more information, “But why? If someone is abusing him, he shouldn’t take pride in it. He should—,” Tina’s abrupt outburst of laughter sends his temple into a pinwheel swirl of butter yellow.

“Honey, those aren’t bruises,” she explains as she wipes at her eyes. “Not like you’re thinking, anyway. Gav’s got himself a new boyfriend. They’re hickies.” _Hickies_. That’s a term 900 is already familiar with. He’d had the unfortunate experience of Connor explaining it to him when he asked what was wrong with Anderson’s neck the week prior.

Something doesn’t sit right. The word doesn’t slot into place as it should, “Those look like fingermarks.”

Tina makes an aborted squawking sound while shaking her hands at him, “Shhhh. Keep your voice down.” 900 hadn’t been talking any louder than usual, but he modulates his volume for Tina’s benefit. Her stress levels jumped fifty percent for no reason that 900 can identify.

“If something is wrong, shouldn’t we take action?” He whispers it and Tina relaxes slightly.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ , Nines,” 900 had grown used to the nickname, but he still found it a bit odd.

Tina’s voice brings his mind back into focus, “Gav is just into…unique things.” When 900 continues to stare at her without a hint of comprehension, she exhales in impatience, “Look, I’m not spelling it out for you. Research BDSM. If it’s there, Gav’s probably tried it.”

900 knows better than to ask how Tina knows such things. After a brief internet search, he’s glad he kept his silence.

Over the course of several weeks, he watches the detective, trying to ascertain if there are any other outward indications of what sexual activities he gets up to in the privacy of his own home. The detective was always cocky and self-assured. He picked fights with his colleagues as often as he could get away with it. Yet, the increasing frequency of markings on his body indicates he is not the aggressor in bed.

It’s an oddity that fascinates 900. He’d devoted more processing power than he cared to admit delving into the well of BDSM. He doubts Gavin is truly into many of its elements. From what he’s gathered, Gavin appears more interested in choking and breath play.

The first time Gavin waltzes in with a garish ligature mark across his neck, 900 can’t leave well enough alone. Ignoring Tina’s hissing, he follows Gavin down the hall for a private word.

“Detective?” The man goes rigid when 900 calls out to him as per usual.

“Yeah?” They’d reached an uneasy truce months prior. Gavin had finally pushed too far and found himself on the receiving end of a fight he couldn’t win. 900 hadn’t hurt him so much as he damaged his pride. If 900 had known all it would take to get Gavin to stop his incessant verbal barbs was pinning the man face down on his own desk, he would have done it immediately. Knowing what he knows now about the detective’s sexual tastes, he wonders how much of his embarrassment was tied to arousal.

“Are you ok, detective?” It’s obviously not the question Gavin expected. Bewilderment mingles with his trademark irritation.

Shouldering open a side door, he mumbles, “M’fine.” Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, 900’s eyes zoom and enhance the ugly bruising around his neck.

“Are you sure?” 900 tries to keep his tone even. He knows the small, angry man has a way of boiling over at the slightest indication that he suffers from any kind of weakness. It doesn’t work.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure. Jesus, tincan. You got a bug in your programming?” 900’s LED whirls yellow in minor irritation.

Politeness getting him nowhere, he asks the blunt question, “Did someone attempt to garrote you last night?” Halfway through a puff of his newly lit cigarette, Gavin chokes at the inquiry. As 900 expected, his fingers fly up to touch the mark.

“S’nothing,” he tries to shrug it off, but there’s a hesitant set to his shoulders. “None of your business anyway.”

“I do require your presence to get any work done. If someone is trying to kill you, that makes it my business.” Gavin laughs and it’s a sound that tastes like arsenic.

“Glad to know you _care_ , tincan,” his tone is bitter and 900 wonders if he somehow made a misstep. Resolving to review the conversation later, he looks at Gavin expectantly, “Jesus, fuck. I’m fine, alright? I’m a big boy; I don’t need a nanny.”

Recognizing the dismissal, 900 inclines his head at him, “As you say.” He turns to walk back into the building only to collide into Tina.

“Officer Chen,” 900 stabilizes her by the shoulders. “Were you eavesdropping?”

Her face flushes red in immediate betrayal, but she stands her ground, “I’m getting worried. Gav used to…used to check in, yanno?” 900 doesn’t know and she swears under her breath, “Of course, you don’t. Ok, I’m going to level with you. You so much as hint that this conversation happened, and I’ll run you through a wood chipper. Got it?”

Scanning her is unnecessary; her face is a portrait of tension and anxiety. He lets the threat go, “You can trust in my discretion.”

Tugging him further down the hall, she casts a glance at the back of Gavin’s head just visible through the glass of the door, “Gav’s my friend—one of my oldest friends. I know enough about his exploits to know he’s going to get himself hurt if he’s not careful. He swore up and down that this one was on the level.”

“What’s his name? Can’t you investigate him quietly without Gavin knowing?” Tina gives 900 a look that lets him know he’s being an idiot.

“You think I wouldn’t have done that by now if I knew? He won’t tell me. He says it’s nothing serious. He gives me one weak excuse after another, but I know him. If I push, he’ll shut me out altogether.”

A stricken look passes over her face for less than a second. It’s enough of a warning that Gavin must be coming back inside. Cutting her off before she can tip her hand, 900 asks loud enough for Gavin to hear, “Has Officer Miller gotten back to you about that missing car that turned up on Amberton road? It might be involved in one of my cases.”

Gavin passes by them without interruption and Tina relaxes, “Thanks.” Glancing back to make sure he’s out of earshot, she continues, “I’m worried. I think…” She fades off, biting her lip. 900 can tell she’s about to say something she can’t take back, “I think he’s in trouble.”

A barrage of questions spills out of 900’s mouth before Tina hisses at him to shut up. She agrees to go to lunch with him and tell him what little she knows. A couple of hours later finds them outside a food truck, Tina munching on chicken fries dipped in mayonnaise and 900 staring at her in ill-disguised disgust.

“What? It’s not like you can judge. You don’t have taste buds.”

900 disagrees, judging silently regardless of his inability to eat food, “Tell me about this boyfriend.”

Tina makes a face at the request, “I’m not sure you can call him a _boyfriend_.”

“ _You_ did,” 900 quips back, watching her swirl another slender piece of fried chicken in the white goop.

“Right, well. Just for lack of a nicer term.” 900 nods at her to continue, “It’s not like I meet every guy Gavin takes home. It’s just…he’s never been secretive like this. He won’t tell me the guy’s name and he got out of control defensive when I asked to look at a bruise on his shoulder. It looked…well, it looked not good.”

900 nods, fully aware of which bruise she’s referencing. He’d been surveilling the man’s discomfort with increasing attention over the weeks. It had started with a wince when he went to sit. The following week, he had difficulty achieving full range of motion with his right shoulder. He rebuffed questions from his colleagues, and 900 noted with interest that his cortisol was often elevated much too high for the topic of conversation.

Focusing on Tina, 900 offers, “He told me he dropped a weight on it while lifting.”

Tina’s mouth goes into a grim line, “I got a cock and bull story about his cat knocking a mug off a shelf.”

“How on earth could a mug do that kind of damage?” 900 tries constructing several scenarios involving a mug causing that severe of a contusion; none of them succeeds.

Tina gives him a dry smile, “I’m guessing that’s why he changed his story when he spoke with you.” She fiddles with a chicken fry before tossing it down, not in the mood for food, “I was thinking maybe you could talk to him.”

900 stares at her, waiting for the joke. He knows he often misses the punchlines when his colleagues jest. When she continues to watch him in contemplation, he asks, “You’re serious?” At a nod from her, his software pops up several warnings about his internal temperature levels.

“Tina, he hates me,” her head tilts to one side and she smiles at him as one would at a very simple, but very adorable baby animal.

“No, Nines. He’s attracted to you. He’s like a schoolyard bully. He likes you so he’s going to pull your pigtail.” She sips from a straw stuck inside the tab of a can of soda, supremely sure of her opinion.

“That,” 900 finally offers after a prolonged silence, “is a drastic misrepresentation of Gavin’s early behavior toward me.”

“Maybe,” she offers in a casual tone. “But he calmed right on down when you confronted him. More than calmed down, if memory serves me correctly.”

The incident loops in his mind at the barest hint of 900’s interest in it. He recalls Gavin’s elevated heart rate, the spike in respiratory effort, and the increased sweat output. Still, those things could all relate to his increased exertion from grappling.

What had Tina seen that he hadn’t it? Was it instinctual? Turning the scene to several angles, his sensors alert him to scan Gavin’s face. Zooming in on his expression, 900 takes note of the dilated pupils. This could be from fear or arousal. Gavin had not been afraid; he’d been angry and spitting like a wild cat but not scared.

Meeting Tina’s eyes, he sees the smug set of her lips, “Toldja.”

“Very well. Even if you’re right, he’s not going to suddenly lean on me like a confidant.”

Tina scowls at him, “For a marvel of technology, you sure are dumb.”

Used to such commentary from Tina, 900 overlooks it. He’s learned some humans use such putdowns as a means of building comradery. Officer Chen is one such person. 900 steeples his fingers, “Enlighten me then.”

“Like I said, he’s attracted to you. You can use that to establish lines of communication. I can’t say that any one approach will work, but I have picked up on one factor that his… _partners_ have in common.” She says the word as if it has a bad taste.

“What’s that?” He asks when she fades into a thoughtful silence.

“Oh,” a sly smile replaces the dark, brooding look. “He won’t take anyone home that can’t top him. You shouldn’t have any issue there.”

900 puts Tina’s assertions to the test immediately. Even if Gavin had downgraded his behavior from outright caustic to moderately prickly, it didn’t give 900 much reason to believe Tina is right.

He hesitates in her assessment of Gavin. Even she is an outsider in this matter. Gavin may confide more to her than anyone else in an effort to keep her off his back, but that doesn’t mean he tells her everything. He sees the man yawn and makes his decision.

He hasn’t gotten Gavin a coffee in weeks—not since the desk incident. He knows how the man prefers it and approaches him in plain view. Gavin’s nose flares at the scent before he looks up to see 900 lightly gripping the cup, “The hell? Tincans need caffeine now too?”

900 shakes his head, “Your energy levels this morning indicate you haven’t had your usual four cups of coffee. I’d prefer it if you were on point should we get called to a scene.”

Gavin grumbles about arrogant androids and makes no move to accept the proffered cup. Frowning, 900 reaches for Gavin’s wrist. Locking his grip, he maintains eye contact while transferring the drink to Gavin’s hand. His fingers linger over the detectives’ for longer than is strictly necessary and—

_Heart rate elevated_

_Pupils dilated_

_Cortisol levels minimal_

     >> Gavin is not afraid

     >> Gavin is aroused.

900 stores the data in his pocket for further analysis later. Granting Gavin enough room to breathe, 900 retreats to his desk. Gavin refrains from calling him names for the remainder of the afternoon. He even gives him a hint of a smile when he leaves the precinct for the day.

In the privacy of his austere apartment, 900 turns the information over in head. He’s disturbed by how much data he’s collected on Gavin over the months he’s known the man. He has dozens of image files of secret smiles Gavin doesn’t know anyone saw. His most replayed audio file is the first time Gavin called him _Nines_ instead of something rude. It isn’t a thought 900 revisits often, but he knows Gavin is the one who came up with the moniker. It makes his insides hum.

The answer comes to him almost immediately when he asks his memory banks why he would choose to store so much useless information on one single person.

     >> I am attracted to Detective Reed.

The realization doesn’t sit well. He immediately pulls his memories of Connor, of what he knows about him and Lieutenant Anderson. The thought of being on the receiving end of that man slithers through his coding like aggressive seaweed trying to drown an unsuspecting swimmer.

He does not like it. He does not want that kind of relationship.

_He won’t take anyone home that can’t top him_

Tina’s assertion comes back to him unbidden as if 900 is being very simple and his coding is smacking him upside the head with a memory skillet.

Retooling his thought process, he adjusts his assessment of Connor and the lieutenant. He would prefer to be in Anderson’s position than Connor’s. Given what Tina knows about Gavin’s preferences, this shouldn’t prove to be a roadblock. His coding relaxes and the writhing sensation waxes into something warmer and nice.

Like any of the RK models would do, 900 resets his primary and secondary mission. His frustration at being unable to act on them is almost immediate. He intended to observe Gavin for several days, to assess how he reacts to various acts of kindness as well as demands. Instead, he is presented with an empty desk and a panicked Tina.

“Have you heard from him?” 900 can almost taste the cortisol emanating off her in waves.

“No. Why would I?” The question is genuine, but it does nothing for Tina’s alarm.

“Dammit. You’re his partner—I thought, maybe…” she trails off, realizing whatever she thought is moot since 900 knows even less than she does.

“Has something happened?” Of all the officers in the precinct, he gets along fairly well with Tina. It’s the only thing stopping him from shaking her out of her panicked state.

She hands him her phone, worrying at a cuticle on her thumb. By the fifth text message, 900 is heading toward the door.

“Wait!” He registers Tina’s voice, but he doesn’t adhere to it. Tossing the phone over his shoulder at her, she fumbles with it before reading the latest message on the screen.

_I am going to Detective Reed’s residence. Stay here in case he shows._

For the first time in his relatively brief life, 900 understands the appeal of speeding. Overriding the auto-drive, 900 flips on the siren and makes it to Detective Reed’s home seven minutes faster than the GPS indicated he would arrive.

As he steps out of the car, a message from Tina blips across his mind.

_He finally answered my texts. Says he’s ok. I don’t buy it._

Anger rapidly replaces his slight relief that Gavin is well enough to text. On his way up the stairs, he passes a furious man pinching at a freely bleeding nose. Taking care to accidentally-on-purpose bump into him, 900 mutters enough apologies to stay off his radar. Swiping some of the blood transfer on his jacket across his tongue, Detective Reed’s name pops up alongside a man with an arrest history long enough 900 has to scroll through his HUD three times.

Gavin has been throwing caution to the wind. 900’s field of vision ripples like a desert mirage as he pounds hard enough on Gavin’s door to make it jiggle in the jamb.

“I told you to FUCK OFF!” Gavin’s voice thunders through the hollow wood, sounding odd as if he’s speaking through a mask. Several locks slide home on the other side. Scanning the hinges, 900 determines they’re weak enough that he could kick them in if necessary.

“It’s me, detective,” Gavin doesn’t move to open the door, but he doesn’t shout at him either.

“Whaddaya want, tincan,” his voice is definitely not right, but 900 doesn’t have enough data to construct a possible explanation. He needs to _see_ him.

“Tina’s worried. I’m worri—,”

“The fuck you are,” Gavin interrupts him immediately, viciously.

900 brings his palm up to the door, wishing he could see through it, “Of course, I am Gavin. Why else would I be here?” He isn’t sure if it’s the use of his name or the reality of the question; either way, Gavin unbars the door. He’s retreating away before it’s even halfway open.

The apartment is a mess, but not in the way of a slovenly person. Obvious signs of a fight litter the room. 900 scans an overturned table, a bloodied countertop, and numerous soiled rags before finally landing on Gavin. He scans his peripheral and naked upper half; he finds numerous contusions but no broken bones.

The damage isn’t as bad as 900 had anticipated by the looks of the man he passed on the stairwell. Still, it makes his wish he’d thrown him down the steps when he had the chance.

Gavin fumbles as he tries to light a cigarette; his hands are shaking badly from what 900 assumes is adrenaline. His fingers envelope Gavin’s and the man lets him take the lighter. Sparking the flame to life, Gavin mumbles his thanks. Sucking in sharply, the cigarette tip glows in a nicotine warning. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 900 gestures at the room and Gavin’s battered appearance.

“No,” is his monosyllabic answer.

“Let’s try again,” 900 navigates him to a chair before guiding him into a sit. “Do you want to talk to _me_ about it or should I call Tina?”

Gavin runs a hand down his face and winces when he connects with his nose. It’s unbroken but swollen. When he remains silent, 900 pulls out his phone. An unnecessary gesture, but it provides a visual cue for the man, “Very well. Have it your way.”

Gavin jolts and makes a grab for the phone, “Fuck. Don’t call Teeny. I don’t—she doesn’t need to see this.” 900 wonders if Gavin feels guilty for worrying Tina or ashamed for finding himself in this position.

After a moment, he surges to his feet, “Give me a minute. Gotta clean up a bit.” 900 gives him ten minutes before he knocks on the door he vanished through. He finds Gavin hunched on the end of his bed, his head in his hands.

Even without the scan, he can see Gavin’s tried to cover up some of the bruising on his neck. What he couldn’t hide with clothing, he clearly tried to conceal with cosmetics. Something clenches coldly inside 900 at the sight. This is something Gavin’s done before. He didn’t bother with his face—the swelling is an obvious giveaway.

Approaching him cautiously, he plants seeds for the future, "You used to show off these marks like a symbol of pride. Now you’re hiding them and pretending like they're not there."

900's fingers ghost along his purpled jaw, careful to avoid the most livid of the bruising, "These are not the markings of consent, detective. You are taking massive risks for slight rewards."

“I’m fine,” Gavin tries and fails to brush off 900’s touch. “I’ve taken care of it, alright?”

900 opens his mouth and closes it in rapid realization, “And who is taking care of you?”

Gavin bends in on himself, protective and afraid, "Piss off, tincan. I don't need you or any—"

900 grips at his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. The pressure is gentle but firm. From his scan, it's the only part of Gavin’s face that doesn't light up with indicators of pain.

“Why would you let someone do this to you?” 900 gestures at Gavin’s swollen visage. The man remains silent, curling into a tighter ball of misery.

“You think you need to let someone hurt you first before they can mend you,” Gavin looks further away at the statement and 900 lets him hold onto his pride for a little longer.

His hand cards through Gavin’s hair, pulling a stuttered exhalation from the man, “You aren’t broken.”

When Gavin still refuses to look at him, he fists the strands lightly between his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze, “A firm hand doesn’t have to be painful.”

The moment 900 brings their lips together, Gavin whimpers into his mouth. Although there will be many more battles, 900’s won this first crucial conflict of wills. He knows he will never strike or choke Gavin like those who came before him; there are safer, saner ways to give the man what he needs.  

“Let me take care of this,” he tugs at Gavin’s arms, and, this time, the man offers no resistance. He unfurls his limbs so 900 can better assess the damage. He spends the rest of the day with him, sending Tina a silent text that Gavin is ok but neither of them will be returning to work until tomorrow.

Most of Gavin’s wounds are superficial even if they’re painful. For an apparent masochist, Gavin lacks the basics of aftercare. It further cements 900’s hypothesis of what Gavin’s truly seeking from his sexual exploits.

900 retrieves a bag of frozen peas and ibuprofen for the pain and the swelling in his face. Within minutes, 900 has Gavin’s head in his lap, claiming he needs to check his pupils. Gavin doesn’t call his bluff; he doesn’t move after 900 finishes his unnecessary eye exam, either.

Their first night in Gavin’s bed proves to be the chastest either of them will experience together. Neither of them meant for it to happen, but 900 was loath to move the man once he fell asleep. When it became apparent Gavin couldn’t look at 900 while explaining the details of what transpired, he’d shifted down the bed to let Gavin rest his head on his stomach.

When Gavin’s voice faltered the first time, 900 stroked at his hair until he could resume speaking. It calmed him enough for the truth to come out of hiding. By the time he finished unraveling the spool of men who came before, he’d cried twice and was emotionally exhausted. 900 could tell sleep was coming for him but chose to say nothing.

He uses the time to compare what he thought he knew, what Tina believed to be true, and what Gavin himself has told him over the course of several hours. 900’s not sure if Gavin’s tenuous attraction to him, his proximity to the incident with the last man, or both played a role in why Gavin chose to unburden himself to him. He’s glad for it as it filled in several holes preventing him from constructing realistic scenarios.

When Gavin awakes in the morning, his bed is empty but the smell of fresh coffee hooks him by the nose. Looking supremely unrumpled in a way that is unfair, 900 hands him a mug just how he likes it. He accepts it in silence. As he predicted, Gavin is shy bordering on surly the morning after divulging so much information to his work partner.

900 can tell Gavin doesn’t want to talk about it so he lets him sip his coffee in peace. He knows enough already. When he pushes the mug away with a stretch, 900 inquires, “Would you like me to catch you up on work? Tina emailed me the details.”

Gavin nods, still suspicious, still waiting for some kind of lecture on not inviting strange and dangerous men to his home. 900 holds that conversation for another time when Gavin is in a better place to actually discuss it. Right now, he’s poised to flee at the slightest provocation.

It takes several weeks for Gavin’s bruises to heal. As 900 expected, Gavin pretends nothing transpired between them. 900 doesn’t comment on his healing face and Gavin doesn’t bring up the kiss.

900 spends Gavin’s healing time softening the man to his intentions, learning what approaches work best with him. By the time his bruises are the sickly yellow of an almost-memory, 900 surmises it’s the best opportunity he will get. He waits until Gavin announces he’s leaving for the day to no one in particular.

“Gavin,” the man’s head snaps up at the use of his name. 900 doesn’t use it often and Gavin has come to associate it with something personal and important.

He doesn’t speak, just holds his gaze letting him know he has his attention, “There’s something we need to discuss. May I walk you to your car?” He notices the sly look Tina gives him, but no one else seems to think anything unusual is transpiring.

“Alright. Fine,” Gavin turns without waiting. 900 catches up to him with ease before falling into step. They walk in silence until they’re outside the DPD walls. “If you’re gonna give me a mommy speech about picking my friends more carefull—,”

900 cuts him off before he can build up a head so full of steam, he can see nothing else, “I am not your mother and that man was not your friend.” Gavin bristles, but 900 continues before he can interrupt, “Do you intend to find a new partner?”

Gavin hesitates, confused by the line of questioning and the tone, “Yeah. The fuck do you care?”

Falling back on his usual defenses, 900 ignores Gavin’s rudeness, “Because the last time you engaged with someone I found you in quite the unfortunate state afterward. These things have a way of escalating.”

Gavin shrugs, “I’ll run a better background check next time.”

“Did you run one at all on the last one? Or did you just not care?” He knows by the increased heart rate and the flush creeping up Gavin’s neck that it was the latter. “Might I propose an alternative?”

Gavin rolls his eyes at him, “Look, Nines. Not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but I don’t think you rub elbows with the kinda person I’m looking for.”

Putting his construction to the test, 900 steps into Gavin’s space. As predicted, the man backs up a pace, bumping into his car in the process. With nowhere to go, he leans into the vehicle when 900 looms closer to him, “Perhaps you already know him.” He cocks an eyebrow for effect and Gavin’s heart rate ticks upward in response.

“You?” Gavin’s tone is incredulous, but his rapidly beating heart betrays him.

“What’s the matter, detective? Not up to the challenge?” Questioning his masculinity works like a charm. Gavin angry whispers for 900 to get in the car and they drive in silence to his apartment.

Once through the door, Gavin immediately tugs him toward his bedroom. Holding him by the shoulders, 900 lays out his limits, “I’m aware of what you typically request of your partners. I’m not going to _fight fuck_ you or whatever it is you prefer to call it.”

Gavin gives him an irritated look, “I fuck how I like to fuck, alright?”

“Is there not more than one way to tie a knot?” He quips back while yanking Gavin toward him by the hem of his shirt before tugging it over his head. He closes the distance, tilting Gavin’s head into a kiss with the tips of his fingers. 

As 900 expected, Gavin tries to spur him into aggression. His kisses are bruising, as is his grip on 900’s waist. Although he doesn’t mark up like a human, he knows Gavin’s fingers are peeling away his synthetic skin at the pressure. Gavin bites at his lip, giving him a bratty, defiant sneer. His expression almost begs for a backhanded strike.

900’s fingers stroke at his face instead, “You’re trying to goad me into a fight. It won’t work.”

900 knows what Gavin _thinks_ he wants—what Gavin always does that leaves him bruised and bleeding with less insightful partners. He knows better. Gavin doesn’t want that kind of pain; he wants someone else to take strict control and the comfort that follows obedience, “You act like you don’t deserve a gentle touch unless you’re badly damaged first.”

Gavin growls and takes a wide swing, a maneuver 900 anticipated. He blocks it easily, locking Gavin’s wrists together. Shunting him into the wall, 900 yanks them together overhead, “I don’t have to resort to choking you to make you feel like you can’t breathe, detective.” 900’s free hand ghost down Gavin’s scarred chest before fondling between his legs. Proving his point, Gavin’s breathing becomes heavy and labored as he unbuttons his jeans. They hit the floor with a quiet thud.

Smiling in amusement at Gavin’s lack of briefs, he leans in and whispers into his ear, “I don’t have to strike you to make your arousal excruciating.” He loosens his hold on Gavin’s hands, tilting his head at him in a question. Nodding, Gavin allows 900 to walk him backward to the bed, his cock awakening with interest at 900’s words.

He makes a soft sound of surprise when 900 flips him over, pushing his head down. His cheek pressed against the bedding, 900 tugs his hips higher into the air before stretching Gavin’s arms to rest above his head.

“Keep them here,” his tone is kind, but it’s not a request. He doesn’t relax his grip on Gavin’s wrists until the man nods.

900 is struck by how different Gavin’s growing erection is from his own. Much like the man himself, the head is flushed red and leaking even in its semi-erect state. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he retrieves a packaged silicon circle. Tearing it open, he moves as if to stroke Gavin into full hardness. Instead, he slides the ring down to the base. Pre-lubricated, it settles easily into place.

He shifts his gaze to take in Gavin’s eyes staring at his now tightly leashed cock. His hands spasm into his sheets before groaning out, “Oh, fuck.”

900 runs a slender finger between his shoulder blades down to the base of his spine, “Eventually, yes.” He knows humans require significantly more prep for sex than androids do, but he intends to take his time regardless, "If it's too much—,"

Reed interrupts him with a snort and a grumble. 900 continues as if he doesn't notice it, "—tap out or say the word."

" _Tap_?" Gavin's tone is incredulous, but 900 won't continue until he agrees. The man mumbles out a  _fine,_  tension clear in his stance.

Popping a cap of lubricant loudly for Gavin’s benefit, he sees him visibly relax. His eyes flutter closed around an _a-aah_ sound when 900’s fingertip brushes against his puckered entrance. At the first gentle slide of his finger, 900 realizes Gavin is no novice to this and quickly adds a second.

His fingers find what they’re looking for with ease. He prods, strokes, and teases at the small bundle of nerves for several minutes until Gavin can’t control his soft whimpering. He bucks against nothing, fighting to keep his hands above his head.

“ _Agonizing_ , isn’t it?” His tone is conversational and Gavin groans in response.

“Please,” the word comes out heavy with need. 900 hadn’t expected the man to beg so soon. A pleasant trill runs through his synapses.

“Please, what, Gavin?” He expects him to ask for permission to touch himself, for 900 to touch him more, or to remove the ring altogether.

He is not expecting Gavin to pant out, “Please, don’t stop.”

Ribbons of code glow glossy violet at the admission, more slippery than an oil slick. Peeling back the skin of his free hand, he can see it shine through the seams of his body. For a moment, his careful control threatens to collapse. He wants to hold this man and rock into him until he’s a gibbering mess.

It’s not what Gavin needs right now. He lets the flight of fancy go, “As you wish.” He resumes his too-gentle caressing, bringing Gavin to an edge he can’t tip over. 900 wonders how long Gavin will last before he breaks. Even if he could experience fatigue, 900 would never grow tired of watching him like this.

He performs a scan when Gavin’s thighs start to tremble. He can see the tension in his back as he fights to remain in the position. Withdrawing for the moment, 900’s arm snakes around his hip and up his torso. Dragging him upright, he pulls Gavin’s back flush to his chest.

Staring at a rivulet of sweat inching down Gavin’s neck, 900 drags the flat of his tongue in a long stipe to capture it. Data explodes, analyzing DNA, hormones, and salt. Gavin shivers when 900’s teeth worry at his earlobe. He runs his palms down Gavin’s forearms before reaching his wrists. He presses them into the meat of Gavin’s thighs, “Hands to yourself.”

When Gavin doesn’t respond, he nuzzles into the man’s neck before sucking a tender bruise into existence, “Understand?” Gavin groans and nods, his fingers flexing into his thighs as if to tether them in place.

He bucks hard when 900 reaches around with lubricated fingers to wrap around his length, thumbing at the tip of his throbbing erection. He strokes him slowly, his grip a hair too loose for Gavin’s preference. He’s getting desperate and 900 knows it. He rocks into 900’s hand, a silent plea to pick up the pace or offer more friction.

900 gives him neither.

“ _Nines_ ,” he begs out his name, but 900 knows he’s not ready yet. He has one opportunity to prove his point to Gavin. He won’t fail him.

He leans away to sneak his free hand underneath him, swirling at his twitching hole. He presses in, resuming his torturous perusal of Gavin’s prostate. He brushes against it, fingers dancing at the edge, not giving him enough sensation to push him over the brink.

900 watches Gavin’s arousal build like a wave incapable of crashing. The man’s moaning fades into whimpers of lust. His head collapses back onto 900’s shoulder, pleading for his release.

“Please, Nines,” if he were a man, 900 may have missed the whispered request.

“Please, what, Gavin?” 900 echoes the familiar refrain. This time, he gets the answer he’s expecting.

“Please, let me come.”

“Oh, Gavin,” he murmurs the words into the man’s neck and he relaxes in misunderstanding. 900 waits for a beat to deliver the punishing blow, “No.” _Not yet_ , he adds in silence, a thought only for himself.

Gavin’s body seizes in his grip and the man sobs out a distressed moan. Overwrought with too much of not enough sensation, 900 takes pity on him. Withdrawing once more, he slackens his grip on him before tugging him to the end of the bed.

“If you’re going to come, I want to see your face when it happens,” Gavin doesn’t miss the _if_ , but the statement at least allows for the potential of a physical release.

Faded green eyes lock onto an icy gaze when 900’s cock nudges against him. 900 can’t help but scan him for this first thrust. He notes the way his mouth falls open a fraction at a time until it appears as if he intends for 900 to invade his mouth rather than his body. He takes in the spasm of Gavin’s muscled stomach and the hitch in his breath when his cockhead finds his prostate.

Extracting a mere half inch, he thrusts against it gently, throwing gasoline onto the flame he’d lit with his fingers. Gavin howls and 900 repeats the action several times until Gavin’s voice cracks around a scream. Reaching down to resume his stroking, Gavin unravels at the dual sensation.

“I can’t, please. I can’t, I can’t—,” Gavin’s hand drifts toward the base of his cock and 900 nudges it away. Gavin keens at yet another not-brutal-enough thrust.

 “What can’t you do, Gavin?”

Gavin’s heart pounds so rapidly in his chest, 900 would be concerned about a heart attack if he didn’t know the cause, “The ring. I can’t.” He’s not articulating well, but 900 knows what he’s after.

“It stays _on_ , Gavin,” he punctuates his intention with another shallow thrust. At last, at long last, 900 sees the moment he’s been waiting for. Although Gavin turns his head to try to hide it, 900’s scan catches the salty pearl of liquid that runs across Gavin’s temple before disappearing into his hair.

900 thumbs at the watery streak, shifting Gavin’s legs up and over his shoulders, “I promise you, you _can_.” He doesn’t give him enough time to process the statement before withdrawing to the tip and slamming back in with much more force than he’s shown all evening.

The strength of it punches a strangled sound out of Gavin’s chest before frantic sobs replace it. Unable to keep his hands still any longer, his fingers reach up to grip at 900’s neck. His nails dig in, leaving rippling blue streaks in their wake. 900 doesn’t need Gavin’s whimpered warning to tell the man is on the verge.

“Ni-nines,” he shushes him with a quiet _I know_ and increases the pace and strength of his thrusting. Modulating his stamina to match Gavin’s, his thighs buck hard against the man in a sudden rush of unexpected pleasure.

He senses Gavin’s orgasm dancing on the precipice and tightens his grip around Gavin’s dick to help him reach it. One, two, three pumps later and Gavin is crying out his release. 900 rides him through it to the very end, committing every second and every facial expression to memory. He only allows himself to come when Gavin’s orgasm is complete.

He isn’t sure when he collapsed onto Gavin. The resulting scramble of coding at his thirium-based expulsion reduced his processors to basic functions for several seconds. Blinking heavily, he knows he should be more disturbed that his programming decided vision wasn’t a standard feature to always maintain. At this moment, he can’t bring himself to care.

He pulls the ring free from Gavin’s deflating erection with care and tugs the man against him. Humans, he knows, have a significantly longer refractory period than androids. He drums his fingers up and down Gavin’s spine, whispering approval into his hair.

Scanning the room, he finds that a discarded sock is his best option for now and resolves to plan better in the future. He wipes at Gavin’s stomach, removing the bulk of his release. His body feels heavy and sluggish in the aftermath. He drops the sock to the floor; it can wait.

Gavin tosses an arm and a leg across 900’s torso and thigh when he settles back onto the bed. The action sends a static whisper through his code, curling into a warm tendril somewhere in his chassis.

Gavin mumbles something into his clavicle and 900 has to increase his auditory processors to catch it. “Didn’t think you had it in you,” he gestures at his tear-streaked face.

Smiling lazily, 900 presses a kiss to his forehead, “Pleasure can be its own kind of pain if handled correctly. _Safely_.” He pulls back to give Gavin a pointed look and the man still has enough of his wits to look chagrinned, “I don’t have to beat you to make you feel like you’re falling apart.”

Gavin flushes but says nothing, repositioning into what 900 can only define as a snuggle. Lacing his fingers through Gavin’s he pulls him close. He feels the man smile into his synthetic skin, “Hey, Nines?”

“Yes?” 900 isn’t sure what to expect out of Gavin in the aftermath. A number of options pop up onto his HUD, each as likely as the next.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime,” his usual bravado oozes into his tone, but 900 can hear the vulnerability slip in behind it.

He tightens his grip on Gavin’s hand as he answers, “I’d like that.”

Emboldened, Gavin wiggles lewdly against him, “Maybe, like, tomorrow?”

Rich, thick laughter ripples up 900’s coding before escaping across his lips, “I’m not sure you could handle it.”

Gavin shifts to meet his gaze, lust somehow kindling to life in his eyes, “Challenge accepted.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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